


The Red Year

by Ryu_No_Joou



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8641417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryu_No_Joou/pseuds/Ryu_No_Joou
Summary: Sirius faces the eruption of Red Mountain in 4E 5.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the Elder Scrolls or its characters.

“L-Lord Nerevar!”

The Dunmer woman stumbled, her eyes on the tall man who moved quickly, catching her. She clutched at his chest, gripping long hair and a disheveled cloak. People ran by them on all sides, screaming. Dust and ash blackened the air, unbearable heat pressing down on the fleeing forms. Fires raged, clumps of ash and rock pelted the ground, but the woman had no more strength to run. She sobbed weakly into the man’s chest. He held her firmly, keeping her upright, as he motioned with his sword, shouting to be heard over the din.

“That way! Everyone, that way!” His voice was hoarse with overuse, his throat burning, but still he made himself heard, trying desperately to help the Dunmer who fled. “Get in the carriages, go!” He looked down at the trembling woman in his arms. She gasped and sobbed, her red eyes meeting his. 

“Lord Nerevar! Sir Sirius!” she choked through her tears. “I can’t… I can’t go on!” She had been caught unawares by the eruption, running from her home with only the small family altar in her arms, forgetting her shoes and cloak. Her feet were bruised and bloody, aching fiercely. Her legs trembled, and without Sirius’ support she would have been on the ground.

“You can and will!” Sirius said fiercely. He was covered in ash, the reddish soil of Red Mountain streaking his hair and turning his skin as dark as a Redguard’s. “Hold on to me.” As she clutched at his shoulders, he knelt, summoning every ounce of magicka he had left, and ran his hands down the woman’s ankles and over her feet. A soft golden glow surrounded her feet and his hands as he healed her wounds. The Dunmer woman trembled, weeping. He straightened up, drawing a stamina potion from a pouch at his waist and uncorking it. He pressed it into her hands and she drank eagerly, feeling her strength return.

“Hurry now,” Sirius said. He removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. “Go!”

“Azura bless you, Nerevarine,” the woman whispered, kissing his cheek before resuming her flight. The ground shook violently under their feet and Sirius fought to stay upright, urging on the refugees who poured past him. The eruption of Red Mountain, set off by the sudden collapse of Baar Dau, had been completely unexpected to the majority of Morrowind. Sirius, however, had been given a vision by Azura and had immediately evacuated his stronghold of Bal Isra, sending its fifty or so inhabitants to Battlehorn Castle, a property he owned outside of the city of Chorrol, in Cyrodiil. Though the Dunmer who lived in Bal Isra trusted Sirius’ advice and knew well his connection to Azura, people in the rest of the province had been harder to convince. For weeks he had traveled around Vvardenfell, warning everyone he could of the danger. A few obeyed, but others scoffed. And now the only thing Sirius could do was to help as many people as he could escape.

“Sirius!” He turned to see the Sarethi family, Councilors of House Redoran and some of his closest friends, approaching. Athyn, the patriarch, was herding his servants and family before him; Varvur, Athyn’s son, was supporting his mother Domesea. Sirius reached out to help Varvur steady his mother, who seemed on the verge of fainting. The servants ran on as Athyn stopped, panting. “Sirius,” he gasped again. “I’m sorry - I didn’t believe-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sirius said quickly, helping Varvur and Domesea into the carriage that waited. “It’s not important now, we need to get you out of here.”

“Come with us,” Athyn urged, climbing up behind his son. “You are Nerevarine, Hero of Kvatch, one of the councilors of House Redoran. You are too important to be left behind.”

“Thank you, old friend,” Sirius said, “but my place is here. I cannot leave while others are in need of my help.”

Domesea reached out to grip Sirius’ hand. “Bless you, Nerevarine,” she said hoarsely. “You are a great man.”

Sirius didn’t stay to argue the point. He thumped the carriage roughly with a fist, and the driver whipped the horses up, driving away as quickly as possible. Sirius paused only momentarily to watch his friends depart, before turning back to the ash wastes once more.

How many days passed? Sirius didn’t know. Ignoring his own hunger and fatigue, he pressed on through the chaos, guiding as many as he could to the safe passages out of Morrowind. Eyes squinted and mouth clamped shut against the ash, he dug out wagons, horses, guar, any means of transport for the evacuating people. And yet he felt so helpless. People died. Some were trampled in the rush; some were swept away by sudden gushes of lava or fell into crevices that opened unexpectedly underneath their feet. Animals ran wild with fear, some attacking refugees in their panic. It was a nightmare. Not even the deepest depths of Vaermina’s realm could contain such terror. 

The flow of frightened, desperate people flowed on and on. The water around the island of Vvardenfell was red with ash. Boats crowded to the limit sailed for the southern mainland as quickly as possible, and caravans pushed forward as rapidly as they could go. The screaming and shouting echoed through the red air, joining with the squeals and roars of frightened animals, to the point where Sirius could no longer make himself heard. He stood atop a hill, his flaming sword Trueflame used as a beacon, gesturing wildly to anyone who spared him a look. A few knew him, dirty as he was; the silhouette of his curved Indoril pauldrons and the blazing sword offered all the recognition they needed. Others ignored him completely and rushed on. 

And finally, the world fell silent. No more screaming. No roaring fires or rumbling earth. Just the softest whisper of ash blowing in the hot breeze.

Sirius fell to his knees, Trueflame clattering to the ground beside him. He fought desperately with himself and lost, his anguish escaping him in a long, wounded howl. Hunched over, he pounded the hateful red ground with his fists, tears coursing down his cheeks and cutting paths through the dust on his face. He screamed until his voice was gone, mourning the dead, voicing his outrage at it all, despairing that he could have only done so little.

At long last his sobs subsided. He lay in the ash, breathing harshly, his eyes closed. He brought his right hand to his face, pressing his cracked, dry lips to the ring he wore. The Moon-and-Star hardly glittered, shadowed by the filth that coated it and its owner. But Sirius didn’t care. He only whispered, “No more, my lady.”

The scent of roses drifted to his nostrils. Sirius struggled to sit up, unable to rise. His head bowed low, he acknowledged the presence of Azura, who had appeared before him. Her soft hand caressed his cheek, brushing his long, dirty hair out of his eyes. He let out a stifled sob, and she pitied him.

“Kill me, my lady,” he whispered. “I cannot stand this suffering anymore. This horror... the Oblivion Crisis... My friends… so many people have died. I… cannot bear this sorrow any longer.”

Azura continued to stroke his hair, gazing down at the bowed, broken man before her. He was one of her dearest followers, her beloved Champion, the reincarnation of Nerevar. And yet, he was his own man, a mortal made a demigod by her intervention and the Divine Disease. He was to be pitied, and Azura regretted that he must bear the burdens set upon him by fate. She would have granted his wish, but she knew he would be needed again in the future.

“I cannot give you what you ask, little one,” she said softly. “It is not time for you to die.”

“Please,” he begged, bowing his head so low that his hair brushed the hem of her gown. “Please, my lady. I beg you, end my life. There is too much pain.”

“I know,” she responded. It hurt her to see her proud Champion so deep in despair. “But it is not time. Rise.”

Sirius obeyed, slowly and painfully getting to his feet, fumbling to belt Trueflame at his side. Azura reached out, tilting his chin up to look at her. His grey eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed from exhaustion and agony, his face grimed with ash. She pushed his hair out of his eyes, tenderly. 

“Your destiny is not concluded, little one. I see in your future many challenges, but also a great happiness and deep love. Tamriel will need you once more. But for now, you will rest. I give you these orders… you will return to Cheydinhal. Settle your affairs, sell off your holdings and property.” She caressed his cheek. “Take only these… Trueflame and Hopesfire; Sunder, Keening, and Wraithguard; your robe, belt, and ring of the Hortator; the gifts of the Ashlanders; Moon-and-Star; and the pauldrons you wear. These things must be removed from the world. When you are ready, I will guide you to where you must go.”

“Yes, my lady,” Sirius responded, and with a last smile, Azura was gone. Sirius stood, his eyes closed, until the odor of roses faded. Then he turned to the West and began the long journey back to Cheydinhal.

—

Two months later, everything had been arranged. Sirius had deeded Battlehorn Castle to the Sarethis, who took charge and promised to protect the refugees who lived there. His properties had been sold, all the belongings except those Azura had commanded him to take were given away, donated, or sold. The Daedric artifacts he had collected over the years had vanished, one by one; Sirius assumed the Princes had learned of his situation and had taken them back into Oblivion. At long last, everything was settled; Sirius bid goodbye to the empty house and took up his pack. Unwilling to say any goodbyes, he left Cheydinhal late at night, under cover of darkness. He traveled by back roads, heading north, into the Jerall Mountains.

True to her word, Azura guided him through the snowy peaks, a two-day journey that ended at the mouth of a cave. Sirius entered, and once he was inside a boulder moved itself in front of the entrance, sealing the cave so that it was undetectable and impenetrable.

Sirius looked around, slowly lowering his pack. The cave was warm, lit by handfuls of flickering candles. A raised dais in the center held a simple bed. Azura’s emblem was carved into a wall above a natural shelf. Slowly, Sirius unpacked, laying his possessions out on the shelf. Trueflame and its mate, Hopesfire; Sunder, the short-handled hammer; Wraithguard, the protective gauntlet; the necklaces and belts given to him by the four Ashlander tribes; the robe, ring, and belt presented to him by Houses Telvanni, Redoran, and Hlaalu; the Indoril pauldrons, blessed by Vivec himself. The ring Moon-and-Star remained on his finger. But try as he might, Sirius couldn’t find Keening, the dagger that paired with Sunder and Wraithguard. He couldn’t even remember packing it. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen it since the eruption. Where had it gone?

It was too late to worry about it now. Though Sirius was sad at its loss, there was no way to retrieve Keening. He could only hope it would be safe, wherever it was, and would stay out of irresponsible hands.

He crossed to the bed, feeling weary and old. He laid down, sighing softly, looking around one last time before closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he was surrounded by a tremendous rose garden, lit by soft silver light. A glassy lake stretched out before an ivory palace, and Daedra he recognized as Winged Twilights fluttered among the flowers, crying out to each other in their strange language. This was Moonshadow, Azura’s realm, and Sirius smiled for the first time in ages as he took in his surroundings. He was still tired, his soul damaged and his heart despairing, but here he would heal. That was a certainty.

Slowly, Sirius wound through the rose garden and sat by the lake, drinking in its quiet beauty. This was a fine place to rest. He lay back on the soft grass, letting the silver sun warm him, and breathed in the flowers’ gentle perfume. _“Many challenges, but also a great happiness and deep love….”_ Azura’s words echoed in his mind, and dwelling on them, he slept. It would be awhile in coming, but he would heal and return to Tamriel once more, to see what his future held in store for him.


End file.
